


paths and bridges

by ultragayest



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, again. sort of??? it's simply my brand of Introspective Fanfiction, takes place between 189-end of 190
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28892439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragayest/pseuds/ultragayest
Summary: Jon is - well, he’s the same, but different.And when Martin shows up, when the three of them bundle Jon into the tunnels, that hits her like a ton of bricks.-------------Georgie does what she can to find the best way to mend certain holes.
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	paths and bridges

The change of heart, if you want to be righteous about it, comes to Georgie far more naturally than she would’ve normally expected. More accurately, it’s a change in her way of thinking—change that up, so easily and so suddenly, and the mushy bits follow soon enough.

It’s like someone flips a switch in the logical part of her brain, leaving the rest of her scrambling to catch up: in the wake of the world ending, changing, what have you, everyone changed with it. Not by choice, not by action or even inaction, it just… happened. The Admiral didn’t _choose_ to turn into some sort of spooky cat demon, didn’t decide it would be easier to turn monstrous than fight off the change—it happened to him. The choice was made _for_ him, and maybe it was barely a choice at all. She can’t exactly ask him his thoughts on the matter.

Jon is—well, he’s the same, but different. 

And when Martin shows up, when the three of them bundle Jon into the tunnels, that hits her like a ton of bricks.

They do their little song and dance, greeting each other, sniping at each other in that generally familiar way Georgie remembers from university—Melanie makes a remark about Jon being the Eye’s “special little boy,” and God, she can practically feel him shifting into a more defensive mode. And it’s not in a bad way, not like he’s shutting down or shutting them out—defensive in the sense that she knows he’ll pay Melanie back for that and then some, and it feels so weird but so _nice_ to see him like that. Happy, almost; or at least as happy as the present _situation_ allows.

When the conversation settles to a calmer sort of thrum, keeping them all aware of each other as they navigate the tunnels, Georgie’s mind starts whirring again.

She and Melanie have talked, of course. Quite a bit, especially immediately after the world went south. About the Institute, about theories. About people. About Jon. Georgie knows—she _knows_ Jon wouldn’t do this. Much as she had wanted nothing to do with all of _that_ , much as she’d—encouraged Jon to try, to do better, she’s never thought he could have it in him to be something that… massive. Never thought for a moment he could be that cruel, or that selfish. And Melanie had agreed from the start, with a few attempts at some lightly fatalistic jokes, and she and Georgie had come to some sort of joint conclusion. They thought then, as they think now, that Jon was involved somehow. Involved, but not responsible.

Involved, not responsible.

_Trying_ , not—not just giving in.

And she feels—God, she feels so fucking guilty? Because she had looked at this friend of hers, had seen him struggling, and had done what she could to get herself away from the situation. Which was fair! Jon’s world wasn’t one she had wanted any part of, was and is one she wouldn’t choose in a thousand years if she had the option. And from her perspective, he _did_ have that option, and he’s chosen—he’d chosen wrong.

And now she’s kicking herself time and time again because it took a _cat_ to make her realize Jon hadn’t made a choice at all.

That thought, that guilt, has been lurking in Georgie’s mind from the moment the apocalypse began. She feels even more guilty for not coming to that conclusion sooner, but—that’s not really something she can change. She can’t very well go back in time, say something different, respond some other way to him showing up at her flat. Not that any of that would have made a difference, as far as she can tell now.

Would have made her feel better, most likely, but that’s—that’s selfish of her, isn’t it.

What matters now is that Jon is here, and he seems safe. Again, he seems oddly happy, which is—maybe a concern, maybe something to be dealt with, but it helps the guilt, somewhat. To see him relax the tiniest bit. It strikes Georgie more than once on their brief walk back that she can barely remember the last time she saw him anywhere near properly relaxed—and he’s not like that now, not at all, worn and battered and drained as he is, but he seems calmer here than when he’d stayed with her so long ago. And he was a fugitive then, sure, and he’s apparently untouchable now, but despite him evidently feeling “woozy” the second he stepped foot in the tunnels, she can still sense some amount of tension draining away.

And it’s nice enough, but they’re all still on edge. They have to be.

And she still feels terrible.

So yes, she’s (rightfully) angry when she pulls him away from the group, when she does everything she can to destroy tape recorder after tape recorder, when she wants to scream so loudly she’d tear her throat out.

But she’s also nervous.

And it all bleeds into each other.

Georgie runs her way through potential conversations, how she should bring up the topic or respond if Jon does it for her, how she might explain it, how it might go horribly wrong. The questions have been spinning in the back of her mind for some time now—and while she can usually relegate them to that same space, things are made just the slightest bit more complicated when the conversation partner in question finally arrives. So she’s let herself think since they found the two, let herself follow the spiraling paths of potential outcomes, trying to figure out her approach.

She hasn’t hit on a particularly appealing option just yet.

Option one: keep things...casual. Don’t make a big deal of it. Grab a couple of drinks, since they’re not running too low—most of the people they’ve found have preferred the Ennui-brand coke, but she goes for the Apathy when they can find it; it has an almost pleasant sort of fruity taste to it, even if it somehow manages to be even less subtle. But yes—crack open the bottles, lean back against a tunnel wall across from Jon, and… 

What?

Where does that conversation go? “Hey, remember how I said you weren’t trying hard enough to not turn into a monster?” she can hear this blasé version of herself saying. “Yeah, so, now that the Admiral’s a spooky cat-demon I get where you’re coming from. Water under the bridge and all that.”

Georgie shakes away any form of that plan, writes it off more or less immediately. It’s not a casual topic, it’s not something she wants to approach without a significant amount of forethought. She’s trying to make some sort of amends, not brush it away like nothing ever happened.

On to option two: sit down and _talk to him_. She would explain where she had been mentally, emotionally; go through why she believes her default mode, in absence of fear for her friend, was anger and exhaustion. And then she’d give Jon some time to talk through his experience, hear him out and listen as intently as possible. Both of them talking their emotions out in this weird little fearless pocket of the apocalypse, backlit by torchlight on a tunnel wall.

Christ, she might as well invite Laverne along if she’s going to keep going with this ex-couple’s therapy angle. No, God, no, there’s no way that’s the right direction either.

Options three, four, five, and so on are decidedly not any better.

Georgie’s not really a meticulous planner, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try to build this bridge back at least in part—and building a bridge is notoriously, overwhelmingly difficult when you find you’ve run out of planks halfway across the river.

In the end, she doesn’t actually say anything.

She makes it through the direct apology just fine, and that’s the easy part; the conversation just sort of goes on from that point. Talking through a bit of their process, means of survival, the uncomfortably-convenient supermarket hellscape.

And then there’s a pause.

Jon asks after the Admiral, probably wants to see him, and—Georgie explains what happened. Simply and cleanly. She doesn’t say what she’s been thinking, instead letting the words fall between them, heavy with subtext, like some kind of peace offering.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and there’s a longer pause. They sit in it for a time, leaning side by side against a brick wall like they might have a lifetime ago, and Georgie can tell he’s thinking. He might be debating about whether or not he wants to acknowledge her beyond that response, or maybe—hell, maybe he’s trying to get an eye on the Admiral, even from here. She doesn’t know, she can’t know, and she finds that she’s strangely okay with that. Even if the tape recorder is still on the floor between them, its ever-present whirring the only sound beyond their breath.

So they sit in the relative quiet, and something shifts after not much longer. Jon doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t either, but the weight of her offering feels like it’s been lifted. Like it’s been picked up, analyzed, and pocketed, all in swift succession.

Georgie waits a moment longer, hangs on to the quiet, and shifts her weight towards Jon. Doesn’t make contact, doesn’t reach out for him. Just shifts onto one leg, closes the gap between them as much as she can without falling over herself.

After a few seconds, Jon does the same.

And for the first time in a long time, in what really does feel like a lifetime to Georgie, they make contact.

His shoulder presses into hers, through layers and layers of cloth, and it hurts her to think of how things might be different. Of all the other places they could be, all the branching paths and closed doors that might have led to something better, or even something worse. Endless interactions where a single sentence, a single action, a single _second_ could have changed everything. What the world might look like if that second had, in fact, changed everything.

They’ll head back, sooner rather than later, and Jon will tease her and Melanie and Georgie will give him shit for it and they’ll talk and live and exist together, temporary as she’s sure it’s going to be. And maybe it’ll turn out that there _is_ an end to this, and she and Melanie and Jon and Martin will reunite in a world set right and be able to have a conversation that’s not centered around eldritch abominations and cultish bands of refugees.

Maybe the Admiral will make it home too. 

**Author's Note:**

> me? write Yet Another Introspective Thought Process fic? what can I say, I'm a playwright and I love me a dramatic monologue


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